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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799853">scars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phasmachinas/pseuds/phasmachinas'>phasmachinas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>goretober 2020 fills [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Gen, Ghost Abigail, Mild Gore, Murder Family, Post-Season/Series 03, Scars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:35:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phasmachinas/pseuds/phasmachinas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For what would be Abigail's birthday, Will and Hannibal unveil a painting of her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham &amp; Abigail Hobbs &amp; Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>goretober 2020 fills [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951783</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fill for day 2 of goretober: scars.</p><p>Takes place post season 3.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For what would be Abigail's birthday, Will and Hannibal unveil a painting of her. They've placed it in the sitting room of the house they call home now, miles across the sea near a different ocean to the one her and Will had crossed to join Hannibal in Europe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abigail doesn't wonder too long how they managed to keep this gift a secret from her— doesn't think too long about what other things they keep to themselves. Whatever it may be, it can't touch her. Not anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will follows her every movement. Hannibal looks at the painting instead— he can't see her anymore, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><strong>“I commissioned it for her to be depicted in the style of a Valkyrie.”</strong> He says in his thick accent. <strong>“Nowadays they're thought of as benevolent virgins under the All-Father's command, but we should not forget that they were seen waving the fate of warriors with thread made of entrails, picking who'd be touched by death while they themselves remained always young, never dying.”</strong></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abigail looks at her painting and it looks back with shiny eyes and a beatific but assured expression on its face. Her eyes travel further down and find the skin </span>
  <em>
    <span>unblemished</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Abigail of the painting has no scars, no marks left from fatherhood whimsy twice taking precedence over her own will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abigail's own scars— two of them, running parallel— are out in the open, one gash forever fresher and redder than the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head to the side and traces a finger over the first scar, the one that marked her as a survivor and that she used to hide with scarves when she still lived and breathed. The texture is just as it always was: rough and reassuring under her fingers— it was real, it happened to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, but the other one… her fingers hesitate before touching it and as if waiting for the memory of death to reemerge it reopens, trickling dark blood past its postmortem stitches and over her neck, her fingers, down her sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><strong>“Does she like it?”</strong> Hannibal asks after a minute of silence has passed, not noticing the fluttering of Will's eyes or their roaming over scars and blood that only he and a dead girl can see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his voice snaps Abigail out of her daze. She blinks owlishly at the painting one last time, feels her blood drying up, her gashes turning into closed scars. She holds her hands together in front of her, bloody fingers straining with the force of her grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Yes. Tell him it's beautiful. Like something out of a fairy tale.”</strong>
</p>
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